


Mourning of a Sacrificial Angel

by Wolf_Lettuce



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But I do try, Episode: s06e06 Sacrifice of Angels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know if this is going to be written or not, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, That's up to ya'll, s06e11 Waltz, spoilers kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29318850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_Lettuce/pseuds/Wolf_Lettuce
Summary: I wanted to write a story following the "what if?"What if we got to see a damaged, broken, recovering Dukat ?I wanted to see more of insane Dukat, but the writers said Big Nope.We got Waltz, but come on ! This will have multiple POVs, chapters, and different outcomes.Will be written if there is a want :)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Mourning of a Sacrificial Angel

Security found him like that, wrapped around Ziyal, mumbling incoherently to himself; maybe to Ziyal, but she couldn’t hear him. Dukat was tracing his thumb underneath Ziyal’s right eye, warming the cooling skin of her face. He was speaking in half sentences, barely more than a hushed whisper.

One of the three Bajoran security guards that had located him, inched forward, slowly.

Approaching a cornered, injured animal was always dangerous.

The other two guards stood behind him, phasers on stun. As the security officer neared Dukat, he noticed a small quivering encompassing Dukat’s frame, small quakes vibrating his limbs in episodic increments. The security guard inched forward once again, dropping low to the ground half a meter away from Dukat’s face. The guard took in the state of said face, the normal shade of Cardassian gray was now ashen, almost as if powder had been packed on it. Dukat’s viral blue eyes, once lit with a fire that could burn down cities, now were a tepid pool filled with stagnate water. Underneath his eyes were river beds of dried tears, the skin of his cheeks still tacky with the salty residue.

Now that the security guard was close enough to Dukat’s face, he could see the vacancy that remained instead of tears, he could now listen and comprehend Dukat’s mumbling.

“We’ll leave to Cardassia, you’ll be safe there, I’ll build you a palace, my sweet girl. I know you forgive me, I know you do…”

The guard was watching the shell of Dukat in morbid fascination. Dukat’s empty eyes never left Ziyal’s face.

With a look back to the other security guards, he hit his commbadge,

“Security to Odo…”

____________________________________

The first thing that conjured into Sisko’s mind was, “How is a man, comprised of long, thin lines, harsh scales, dense bones, and cartilage able to fit that neatly into a space barely bigger than the width of a Brig cot?”

Sisko looked down at his old adversary, stuck in cold disbelief. This man… this creature was Dukat? His adversary of many years, with a murder rate longer than any strand of computer code, was folded in on himself, weeping himself hoarse, rocking back and forth.

In some dark place within him, Sisko wanted to laugh. Point at Dukat, and release an uncontrolled fit of laughter, that would most certainly rock the entire brig. Shout from the top of his lungs, that Yes! He had done it! He had won!

But the other part of him, the more resigned, more mature side that had led to his captaincy, looked down on Dukat and simply took in what was in front of him.

Was this a victory?

If it were, it would be a small, tainted one. To capture a prisoner of war, that was one thing, but to exploit a damaged man, to use his loss as an advantage? It made Sisko queasy. Weighing the pros and cons in his head, he examined Dukat closely.

Dukat’s face was a mix of hypocritical expressions; on his lips there was a small, quaint smile, but in his eyes there was nothing but pain, sorrow, and longing. For the first time, Sisko listened into Dukat’s conversation with himself.

Dukat was talking away about a fantastical future, one where he held Ziyal a bit more closer, adorned her with more gifts, enjoyed her presence, her laugh, her smile, her artwork.

Dukat was ranting on and on about an impossibility, for his treasure was now on a table, in a drawer, in a refrigerated box with a tag labeled: Ziyal, Tora.

After weighing those pros and cons, Sisko gestured to Odo.

“Maybe Doctor Bashir can do something for him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes? No? lemme know !
> 
> Chapters will most definitely be longer in the future; I already have a rough draft of ch2.


End file.
